Sandstorm
by Shadowcatxx
Summary: Gaara's physical self was changing, his mental self was already gone. His wide smile was terrifying; his crazed eyes lusting for blood. But, somewhere deep inside that demon's hide, her frightened brother was trapped. This wasn't Gaara, this was Shukaku talking. It wasn't the lonely and tender-hearted five-year-old boy who had once asked his sister for a promise.


**DISCLAIMER****: _Naruto_ - Masashi Kishimoto**

**SANDSTORM**

Wind whipped across the acrid desert landscape, carrying sharp beads of copper, bronze, amber, and gold, the myriad colours of sand. Unlike thunderstorms that roared aggressively, rain lashing - determined to make as much noise as possible - the desert wind's whistle was threateningly, an intimidating promise of stealthy attack. Sunagakure sandstorms were dangerous because of their unpredictability; they could rise without warning and swallow the city, causing more damage and panic than water. Disoriented, men could lose themselves in the golden tornados, forced to challenge the storms' outlasting longevity without panicking or risk going mad. It was a natural defense, a curtain of protection that made the village hidden in the sand so formidable a fortification; strangers shied in fear of the vicious sandstorms, storms that had hardened the earth as well as the people.

However, there was someone within the limestone walls of Suna that lived in constant fear.

Temari's blue-green eyes opened, luminescent in the pale low-hanging lamplight. She hadn't been asleep, only pretending; she'd been listening to the storm beating against her bedroom walls, fascinated despite what her uncle had told them. _The sandstorm is our ally, but also our enemy; it's dangerous and must be respected, but that doesn't mean you have to be afraid_. Kankuro had been afraid; he'd watched the storm through apprehensive coco eyes, waiting for the protective walls of their home to collapse. Temari had smirked, declared her fearlessness, and flicked her young brother in his forehead, causing an irritable yelp. Secretly, the sandstorms were everything she wanted to be; powerfully intimidating, unpredictably strategic, and wildly beautiful.

Two years ago a terrible storm had whipped across Suna, causing havoc and irreversible damage in only half an hour's time; then it had vanished, leaving the civilians to marvel at its awesome strength, as if reminding them who they were. In Suna, if you weren't reasonably tough-fibred the storms might drive you insane; it was nature's way of establishing hierarchy and weeding out the weak. Seven-years-old, Temari had decided then that she would attempt to impersonate the sandstorms in her ninja style, channelling the wind for her own benefit, rather than cowering in fear. She was the daughter of the fourth Kazekage, after all; protecting Suna was her responsibility.

Like protecting her younger siblings was her responsibility as their older sister.

Slowly, Temari pulled away the cotton sheets and crawled out of bed. She tiptoed silently across her bedroom and hesitantly opened the door, glancing cautiously from right to left before continuing into the dark, her soft footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the under-furnished corridor. Her father had little interest in interior decor, and as such the entire house was militaristic, favouring spartan functionality over comfort and hominess. The windows were small, and the naked walls were thick; easily defendable and bleached of colour, it gave no indication that three children lived there at all.

When she reached the second-floor landing, Temari paused. Around the corner, in the forbidden west-wing, two _shinobi _guarded a deceptively mundane-looking vermillion door. Their stony expressions, like breathing statues, ignored the frightened whimpering that seeped beneath the door. Momentarily she watched them, then retreated into a small anteroom and retrieved a heavy leather-bound book. She couldn't read the title; it was in a language that she didn't understand, but clutched it nonetheless to her chest as she crept toward the balcony. Strategically she placed the book on the banister, then returned to her hiding place, measuring her footsteps and the time she'd have until the guards returned. She watched them avidly for a moment, then formed a simple hand sign that captured the book in her gaze; gently she blew through her fingers, and on the banister the book moved. Slowly, so as not to draw premature attention, it inched passed the sand _shinobi_ until it wavered on the edge and fell with a loud, resounding 'SMACK!' on the first-floor below.

Expectedly, the guards jumped to attention and raced down the winding stairs to investigate the disturbance, while Temari quickly slipped behind the vermillion door.

Inside, the room was dark and eerily quiet; the cross-hatched window shuddered against the sandstorm outside, but nothing within the room stirred. Her heartbeat increased, breaths coming in quicker succession as she nervously advanced, her toes creeping along the smooth floorboards without a sound. Somewhere in the darkness her brother was hiding; somewhere the boy they called a _monster_ was watching her. "Gaara?" she said bravely. "Gaara, are you okay?"

Something behind her shuddered and she twirled around in defense, but saw nothing. The storm curtained the moonlight, making the tiny room feel encased in a sandy shell. Perhaps it was; small rivets of golden sand poured from the dry cracks in the limestone, snaking in agitated coils over the floor. When the sand's fingers reached her, she sidestepped it anxiously, and said with less certainty: "brother?"

This time her effort was rewarded by a small, involuntary whimper. It came from the corner, behind a tall onyx wardrobe; a frightened voice that said: "no - leave me alone."

The closer Temari crept the more nervous she became, until she was close enough to distinguish his shivering silhouette. Placing her hands on the wardrobe's side, she gave it a shove and revealed a small, red-haired boy with a white face and pale, petrified eyes ringed with black kohl-like shadows. He was sitting with his back braced against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest; around his neck hung a limp white scarf, and crushed in his arms a tawny teddy-bear smiled.

"Gaara," she said, kneeling down slowly, as if approaching a strange dog she wasn't sure wouldn't bite. "It's okay Gaara, it's Temari - your sister," she added, in case he'd forgot. The five-year-old was so strange, it wouldn't surprise her if he'd forgotten who she was. Besides, she and Kankuro were forbidden from interacting with their young brother, the punishment for which was severe. Kankuro had learned that the hard way when he'd curiously engaged Gaara in a harmless game of brotherly wrestling. For reasons neither he or Temari could understand, Kankuro's wrist had snapped upon impact, and their father's guards had ordered them both away. Their father himself had glared at them and forbidden them from ever touching their brother ever again - "that's an_ order_!" And, since then, both had obediently obeyed.

Looking at him now, she understood why. Unsure whether he'd noticed her or not, she knelt down and watched him with renewed pity. He was cradling his head between shaking fists, eyes squeezed shut in torment, and repeating: "no, no - leave me alone; please, leave me alone."

He looked so sad, so scared and exhausted. Without thinking she reached toward him tenderly, only to find her hand ensnared within ribbons of sharp, pressurized sand. When she tried and failed to pull away she gasped in panic, the sand tightening its vice-like grip around her fragile fingers. "Gaara," she said, struggling. "Gaara, help."

"Leave me alone, leave me alone!" the boy cried, speaking to an invisible enemy.

"Gaara, please!" Temari panicked. Her finger-bones ached, weakening until she screamed: "Gaara-"

His pale eyes snapped open and the golden sand receded. Unblinking, he stared at her, as if only now noticing her presence. She stared back without a word, massaging her injured - but thankfully unbroken - hand. "Sister," he said softly, uncertainly. She nodded. His crystal-blue eyes darted rapidly around the empty room, perhaps searching for his tormentor. When his insomniatic eyes pierced the storm he said: "what happened?"

Timidly she shook her head. "I don't know, you were having a nightmare," she guessed, though the shadows encircling his eyes suggested that he hadn't slept for some time.

"Nightmares," he repeated incomprehensively. Lower lip trembling, he crushed his threadbare teddy to his chest, burring half his face against its plush body. "I saw _him_," he whispered. "Shukaku."

Temari flinched. She didn't recognize the name, but something about it sounded demonic. "Who is Shukaku?" she asked, bravely inching closer.

Gaara shook his red-head. "I don't know. I can hear his voice in my head, he- tells me to do things, t-terrible things," Gaara sobbed, tears beading his pallid cheeks.

Temari was afraid but unwilling to abandon him. _Monster or not, he's still my baby brother_.

"Nobody trusts me, they run from me like I'm diseased," he continued. "And I don't know why. Shukaku - I think it's because of him. They call me a... m-monster, but it isn't my fault. Is it?"

Instinctively, Temari shook her head. "No, it's not your fault. You're just... different, Gaara, and people are afraid of things they don't understand."

He looked at her wonderingly, pale eyes wide with apprehension. "Temari, are you afraid of me?"

_Yes_. "No," she said.

Gaara blinked. "You're lying," he said, voice layered with misery. It made her heart ache with guilt, more painful than her injured hand. "Leave me alone," Gaara said, this time speaking to her.

The blatant command was borderline threatening, but, stubbornly, Temari didn't move. Doubtless that her brother was dangerous, but what right did this five-year-old boy think he had telling his older sister what to do? Distracted by the age-old custom of sibling-rivalry and the unquestionable habit of correcting one's younger siblings when they were wrong, Temari's infamous short temper lent her courage. Folding her arms indignantly, she scooted next to Gaara and - careful not to touch him - said in an authoritative tone: "I'm not going anywhere."

He gazed at her in puzzled disbelief. Nobody had ever defied him before. "Why?"

"Because you're my brother, and you shouldn't have to be alone - especially on a night like tonight," she added, noting the storm.

"Aren't you afraid of me?"

This time she didn't lie. "Yes, I am," she admit calmly. He frowned, his browless forehead creased and his nose scrunched as if he thought that _she_ were strange. His confused expression made her smile and nervously she giggled.

The following silence was more comfortable, though no less threatening. The sandstorm whistled outside, bombarding the cross-hatched window with haphazard patterns modeled after the outlandish caricatures featured in Temari's favourite childhood books. She followed the crumbling lines with her eyes, tipping her head for a better angle, until Gaara asked: "what are you doing?"

She grinned when she realized that he had mimicked her posture, his hair hanging lopsidedly. "Nothing," she answered, straightening. Noting his deflated expression, she added: "is something wrong?"

He shifted, folding over his teddy. "What if Shukaku comes back?"

"Tonight?" Temari thought for a moment, then feigned an arrogant bravado she didn't entirely believe. "If he does, I'll talk to him myself, I'll protect you Gaara." Forgetting herself, she reached toward him, as if he were Kankuro and she were lending him comfort; her fingers touched the wings of his crimson hair, until - remembering - she drew sharply back. Gaara, however, remained impassive. Perhaps sensing his sister's genuine concern, he lifted his hand and folded his pale fingers between hers. She stared in amazement as the sand swirled restlessly around their toes, but didn't attack.

"Do you promise?" Gaara asked worriedly. "If Shukaku returns, do you promise to protect me?"

Dumfounded, Temari nodded. His lips curled into a shy smile and he lowered his head onto her shoulder, holding his teddy-bear in one hand and her fingers in the other. His whole body seemed to relax, his eyes closing in contentment if not in happiness. "I can't sleep," he admit, somewhat resentful, "but don't leave me, okay?"

And again, she nodded. "Okay."

It wasn't long after that one of the guards, sensing an imagined disturbance, opened the vermillion door. _Kunai_ knife drawn in defense, his battle-hard gaze swept across the room; when he found the small bed empty, his body stiffened anxiously. His comrade crept in behind him, his stance suggesting that he had come to a similar conclusion, that the boy - the _monster_ - had somehow escaped. That's when he noticed the removed wardrobe. Nodding, the first man moved forward and - "Temari!"

Her eyes flew open, aquamarine registering surprise. "I'm sorry-" she started, but the guard interrupted. Seizing her forearm, he pulled her forcibly from Gaara's embrace, which startled the unstable five-year-old. Temari tried to reassure him, but her voice was ignored as the golden sand darted forward in angry offense. "Gaara, don't!"

"Stay away from me," the _shinobi_ warned, holding Temari trapped against his chest. She blinked, and the man screamed, his bloody _kunai_ clattering to the floor. "Stay away you _demon_," he shouted, shoving the blonde girl aside. His comrade grabbed her, shouting urgently for reenfocements as the red-haired boy reached eagerly for his sister.

"Gaara," she tried desperately. "It's okay, they're not going to hurt you - don't hurt him!" she screamed, as five additional _shinobi_ entered the room, weapons drawn.

What happened next, happened quickly. Temari, struggling against her captor, was dragged kicking and screaming from the room: "Gaara, Gaara!" While inside, Gaara clutched his head, the demon Shukaku clawing madly inside. _Kill them_, he hissed insistently. _Kill them all_! And, terrified, Gaara did.

* * *

Temari wondered if Gaara even remembered that night, seven years ago.

His emotionless eyes didn't indicate that he remembered anything pleasant from his tormented childhood; nothing about his cold, menacing demeanor suggested that he was even capable of anything resembling love. She watched in horror as his facade transformed, the demon Shukaku awakened from his dormant slumber by that foolish leaf _genin_, Naruto Uzumaki. Standing witness to what was becoming of her young brother, Temari fuelled herself with irrational hatred; she wanted to shout: _stop! look what you're doing to him_! But she couldn't; Gaara's - no, Shukaku's - cruelty had knocked the air from her lungs, pain radiating up her weakened body.

In front of her, Gaara's physical self was changing, his mental self was already gone. His wide smile was terrifying; his crazed eyes lusting for blood. But, somewhere deep inside that demon's hide, her frightened brother was trapped. This wasn't Gaara, this was Shukaku talking. It wasn't the lonely and tender-hearted five-year-old boy who had once asked his sister for a promise of protection.

_I've failed him_, she thought in agony. _I've failed to protect him, and now-_

The forest floor trembled, trees ripped up from their roots as Shukaku provoked Naruto into single combat; laughing maniacally in sickening delight. When his claws raked the ground, pawing like an anxious horse, Temari dived sideways in retreat.

She had to leave this place - run away - but she couldn't. _Not without Gaara, my brother_.


End file.
